


Bathtime

by blackholebabey



Category: The Boy (2016 Bell)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Brahms is a good boy, F/M, Hand Jobs, Smut, Somnophilia, but it's just referenced
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:54:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23059579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackholebabey/pseuds/blackholebabey
Summary: it's a handjob during bathtime and there's nothing more to say on that
Relationships: Brahms Heelshire/Reader, Brahms Heelshire/You
Comments: 10
Kudos: 336





	Bathtime

**Author's Note:**

> i don't own any of the intellectual property associated with the 2016 film "the boy", but if i did i'd be less of a jackass about the fact that people want to fuck the stinky wall man

“For the last time: get in the bath!”

“No!”

You groaned in frustration. This was the third night in a row that Brahms had thrown a tantrum at bathtime. While his tantrums in general weren’t an uncommon occurrence, it was rare for him to have one over the same activity multiple days in a row. He usually liked to pick something at random once or twice a week to decide he now hated, almost as if he was trying to keep you on your toes. Bathtime tended to be the third “random” tantrum each week, but this new, constant struggle was starting to grate on your nerves.

“If you don’t get in the bath right now, you won’t get a goodnight kiss!” you threatened him.

Brahms huffed angrily. “But goodnight kisses are one of the rules!”

“Only good boys get a kiss! If you want to earn a kiss, you either get your ass in that tub or bare it for a spanking!”

The two of you glared at each other in silence, neither of you wanting to be the first person to back down. However, it didn’t take long to see Brahms’ determination waver. Ever since the time you’d smacked him hard across the bottom for misbehaving and then egging you on to punish him, he took your spanking threats seriously.

“Fine, I’ll get in the tub,” he grumbled. “But I won’t be happy about it.”

“Of course you won’t,” you muttered, trying your hardest not to sound too annoyed as you led him by the hand into the bathroom.

There were times that Brahms enjoyed bathtime. There were even times where he brought up wanting a bath before you had to remind him that he needed one. Sometimes he even behaved well enough that you could trust him to wash up thoroughly and put on clean clothes afterward without you needing to pick them out for him.

Today was not one of those days.

You knew that if you left, he’d just sit in the water and sulk. He wouldn’t wash up. He’d just wait it out and hope you wouldn’t notice that he was still nearly as dirty as before. No matter how many times you noticed — no matter how many times you sent him back into the tub so that you could give him a proper scrubbing — he still seemed to believe that he might just get away with it if he acted confident enough.

Even as the water poured from the faucet to fill the tub, you could see how antsy Brahms was to be done with bathtime and make a quick escape back into the walls. He fidgeted in place while waiting for the tub to fill. He stared at the floor instead of watching the bubbles form like he usually did when you poured in the scented bubble bath soap you’d bought him. He even hesitated to strip, turning away from you as he did despite the fact that you’d seen him naked countless times for his baths.

“Alright, Brahms. Bath’s ready,” you declared as you checked the water temperature with your hand one last time.

With a pout, Brahms got into the water and immediately wrapped his arms around his legs to make himself smaller. Or perhaps, as you suspected, to make it all the more difficult for you to properly scrub him down. It wouldn’t be the first time.

You shook your head. He really was going to fight you on this at every single step.

“Is the water a good temperature?” you asked him.

He nodded.

You grabbed the washcloth hanging on the tub’s edge. “Are you ready to get cleaned up?”

“I guess I have to be,” he muttered.

It wasn’t the answer you’d hoped for, but you knew it would have to do.

You started by wiping down his neck and shoulders just to get him used to the sensation of the washcloth against his skin. After all those years in the walls, he still tensed up if you started off the bath by scrubbing too hard or in a place that made him feel too vulnerable. He needed to be assured that your touch was helpful rather than hurtful. Too many times in his life had he experienced the latter.

As you made your way from his shoulders to his arms, you noticed that he’d begun curling up tighter rather than relaxing like he normally did by this point. Sighing, you decided to switch course and wash his hair. That always managed to relax him — once even to the point where he’d started to doze off in the tub.

“Be careful with my mask,” Brahms warned you as soon as you started pouring warm water over his hair. He gave you that same warning every single time you washed his hair.

“I will,” you assured him.

Satisfied with your answer, Brahms leaned into your touch and allowed you to begin shampooing his thick curls. You knew this was his favorite part of bathtime, and it was yours as well. There was something so innocent about the way he sighed in relaxation, eyes heavy-lidded from the feeling of your fingers massaging his scalp. Plus it helped that you loved how soft and springy his curls were.

Lost in thought, you found yourself playing with his hair instead of washing it. You just couldn’t help yourself. It was so soft, especially now that it was clean. You knew you ought to stop and continue with the bath, but Brahms didn’t seem to mind.

Ever so gently, you scraped your fingernails along the side of his scalp — eliciting a deep moan from Brahms’ lips.

You stared at him in wide-eyed shock while he scrambled to get out from under your touch. Never before had you heard him make a sound like that.

“I can finish the bath myself,” he muttered, trying his best to sound annoyed despite a furious blush creeping down his neck.

Against your better judgement, you glanced down at his crotch. You found him fully erect and trying to hide it without being too obvious about what he was doing. Even with his attempt at covering himself, you could still see its thick base and the curly body hair that trailed from his navel down to his cock.

It occurred to you that Brahms had been trying so hard to get out of bathtime because he was horny and needed to go jerk off. He wasn’t trying to be a brat, at least not this time. He was just pent up.

You were well aware of Brahms’ attraction to you. A pair of your panties had gone missing within a week of you accepting the position as his nanny. You had seen the doll he’d made of you, and you knew exactly what the stains on it were from. There had even been that time the other night when you’d woken up from the rhythmic sensation of him rutting against your thigh. He’d seemed so desperate for release that you’d feigned sleep just so that he could finish without embarrassment.

Over time, the attraction had become mutual. No longer were put off by his porcelain mask or faux child voice or even his worst tantrums. Instead, you’d grown to see such things as eccentricities — as well as coping mechanisms. He was a handsome, volatile, and terribly damaged man. It excited and worried you in equal measure.

Still, it wasn’t something either of you ever admitted to in the daylight. The schedule didn’t have time for the two of you to stray from your nanny and child relationship, not even in the moments where it was ever so clearly on Brahms’ mind. He would always adjust himself and rush you off to the next activity, refusing to act on even the most tempting of distractions.

Perhaps it was time for that to change.

“I can give you the washcloth and let you finish up on your own if that’s what you really want,” you said slowly, your heart beating far too fast as you tried to work up the courage to go through with this ultimatum. “Or you can let me finish washing you and then I’ll pleasure you with my hand.”

The silence that fell over the room was deafening. Your heart pounded in your ears. Your skin felt both hot and clammy as you and Brahms stared at each other wide-eyed, unsure if this was a line worth crossing.

“I want you to wash me and then use your hand,” he finally said.

Relief washed over you that you hadn’t been rejected. Still, hearing something like that in his little kid voice was unsettling.

“Use your grown-up voice, Brahms.”

You had only learned what his real voice sounded like a couple of weeks ago. He had been trying to “help” in the kitchen and accidentally sliced open his finger, cursing loudly from the pain, his childlike act momentarily forgotten. But when he realized what he’d said, he fell back into the child voice as he mumbled an apology for cursing. You felt such a swell of victory hearing him use an age appropriate voice that you told him it was okay because he used his grown-up voice and grown-ups were allowed to curse if they wanted to. He’d spent the rest of the night trying out different curse words as a result, but at least he was using his real voice.

Now you made him use his grown-up voice whenever he wanted something that he knew was for adults only. He’d so far gotten away with staying up past bedtime, watching a horror movie, and even trying a sip of your wine. He didn’t always want to comply, but he knew he’d only get what he wanted if he did.

“Why?” he whined.

“Because only grown-ups get to be touched down there.”

Brahms huffed, and for a moment, you thought he might not comply. “I said I want your hand,” he begrudgingly repeated in his low, natural voice.

“Thank you for saying it like a grown-up,” you replied as you resumed washing him. “I know you don’t always like to use that voice, but a grown woman like me prefers to hear things like that from a grown man.”

“Is it because it’s naughty to touch other people there?” he asked, still using his real voice.

You felt the urge to insist that this wasn’t the case, that it was perfectly normal for adults to desire each other so much that they want to touch and kiss and fuck like animals. But you knew that wasn’t what he wanted to hear. At least, that wasn’t how he wanted to hear it.

“Yes, it’s very naughty to touch other people there,” you agreed, keenly aware of the thrill in his eyes at the idea that doing this would be akin to getting away with misbehaving. “That’s why only adults are allowed to do that to each other, and only with permission.”

“You have my permission,” he said immediately.

You struggled to hold back a chuckle at his eagerness. “Thank you. I’ll remember that for later. But if you ever change your mind and want me to stop, you’re allowed to say so.”

“I won’t change my mind.”

You didn’t doubt that at all.

Slowly, you worked the soapy washcloth along the hairy and scarred expanse of Brahms’ skin. But while he still maintained a bit of body shyness during most baths — particularly when it came to areas with heavy scarring — he was now spreading out comfortably and allowing you to do your work without any interference. The only difficulty you had now was that his breathy moans were making it harder to focus on the task at hand.

Out of curiosity, you turned your gaze to his face, expecting to see him wearing a blissed-out expression under that porcelain mask. Instead, you were met with two eyes staring intently at you. The look in his eyes made you pause. There was an emotion to them you couldn’t quite name, despite your breath catching in your chest at the intensity of it.

“Something on your mind, Brahmsy?” you asked.

He hesitated, coming off as more vulnerable than you’d ever seen him despite not being able to see his facial expression. “Do grown-ups need permission to have naughty thoughts about touching each other?”

Ah, so that’s it, you thought. He doesn’t have an understanding of consent and is worried he’s doing something wrong.

It shouldn’t have surprised you given the way he was raised. He understood next to nothing about proper human interaction, and even less when it came to interacting with women. It only made sense that he wouldn’t have been taught anything about his sexual urges and the societal rules surrounding them.

“No,” you assured him. “Grown-ups don’t need permission to have naughty thoughts.” Having a gut feeling as to where he was going with this line of questioning, you added: “And it’s okay to touch yourself while having those thoughts. You don’t need permission for that either.”

Brahms considered that for a moment, but it didn’t seem to assuage all of his anxious curiosity.

“What if they’re asleep but you really want to touch?” he asked, voice laced with concern and guilt. “Is it okay to touch other places and give yourself pleasure as long as you don’t wake them up?”

It didn’t take long for you to realize he was referring to him dry-humping you in your sleep the other night. You struggled with how to answer, though. On the one hand, you knew how important it was to make sure Brahms understood the concept of consent. He was far, far stronger than you, and you worried he’d use that to his advantage if he wasn’t told not to. On the other hand, though, you’d thought the incident was kind of hot and wouldn’t mind if he did it again.

“Normally, that would be inappropriate unless you ask ahead of time,” you told him, not missing the guilt in his eyes. “But sometimes the sleeping person wakes up and knows what you’re doing, and she doesn’t stop you because she knows how much you want to finish. It’s okay when that happens. Just be sure to stop if I ever tell you to.”

“You—” he sputtered, unsure of where his statement was about to go.

“Yes, I woke up,” you elaborated. “I knew exactly what you were doing and why, and I decided I was okay with that.”

“I’m sorry,” he said anyway, sounding positively distraught. “I didn’t mean to be bad. I thought it was okay if I kept it in my pants and didn’t touch you under your clothes. I didn’t know I still needed to ask.” Slipping into his child voice, he added: “I just wanted to be a good boy.”

“Grown-up voice, Brahms,” you chided him.

He shook his head. “I can’t say that in my grown-up voice.”

“Why not?”

“It makes it feel naughty.”

You were shocked and a little turned on by the admission, but you decided it best not to unpack that right now. There was no point in overwhelming him with kink talk, at least not yet. Tonight was just about getting him comfortable with the sexual contact he so clearly craved.

“Well just try to use your grown-up voice for the rest of your bath, okay?” you suggested.

Brahms nodded. “Okay.”

You thought things would quiet down for a little while, but the moment you brought the washcloth up to his thighs, he started squirming and breathing heavily once more.

“I can’t wait anymore,” he whined, opening his legs wider to give you a better view of his thick, throbbing cock. “I need you to touch it now.”

“Don’t worry. You’re almost done.”

A desperate whimper escaped Brahms’ lips. “Please? Please, I’ve been good this whole time.”

“I just need to wash one more place,” you teased as you brought your washcloth covered hand between his legs and fondled his balls.

“Can’t you wash there with your hands?” he asked, squirming under your touch.

You let the washcloth fall into the bath and cupped his balls with your hand, slowly rubbing the sensitive spot right under them with your index finger. “That better?” 

He nodded vigorously. “Feels good, but I need more. Please?”

Something about the sight of Brahms flustered and begging only made you want to mess with him more. You were going to have so much fun with this boy.

“Hold on a moment. I think I missed a spot while scrubbing you down,” you told him, struggling to keep your amusement under control.

“No!” Brahms whined in frustration, unable to stop himself from bucking his hips in search of any friction his neglected cock could find. “No, please don’t stop now.,” he begged. “I need you to touch it so bad.”

You grasped the base of his cock in your hand and gave him a slow stroke up to the tip, pulling a choked moan from his throat. “You’re really dirty here,” you told him with an air of humor in your voice as you continued to lazily pump his cock, reveling in how completely he had already surrendered himself to the sensation. “I think this is going to need a lot of attention.”

He gave you shaky nod in response, quickly catching onto the game you were playing. “I think you’re right.”

You stroked Brahms’ cock faster. It had been a while since you’d jerked a guy off, but you remembered enough from previous experiences to have a good idea of the general tightness and speed a guy needed to cum. And even if you weren’t doing as well as you’d hoped, Brahms was making it quite obvious that he was loving every second of it.

Brahms began thrusting into your fist, his breathing strained and eyes unfocused. You could tell he was close. He just needed a little more. You reached into the water with your other hand and played with his sensitive cockhead, rubbing the slit and making him whine and grunt like a wild animal in rut.

It didn’t take long before he was cumming all over your hand, moaning your name loudly as his orgasm washed over him. You milked the rest of his orgasm out of him, your hand only stopping when he tried to squirm out of your grasp due to oversensitivity.

Chest still heaving, he gazed up at you. The adoration in his eyes was so intense that you had to look away. No one had ever looked at you like that before.

“Kiss?” he asked.

You leaned down and obliged him with a kiss on the lips. “Thank you for being such a good boy for your bath, Brahms.”


End file.
